


animalia paradoxa

by coffeewithdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Case Fic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Instance of Body Horror, Top Castiel, hunter husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9535991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeewithdean/pseuds/coffeewithdean
Summary: Dean has a long and complicated history with the concept of Cas andhunting. It freaks him out and turns him on in equal measure. Cas is tactical and quick, one of the best hunters Dean’s ever seen. It’s no surprise; history has seen Cas ruling Heaven, commanding garrisons. But now he’s wearing second-hand plaid and holey socks like the rest of them. And while Dean admires his hunting skills, that doesn’t stop him worrying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to @ozonecologne and @amarathinecastiel for looking this over for me <3

Dean can hardly keep his focus on the drive back, eyes darting from the road to the passenger seat. Anxious for the touch of Cas’ skin against his.

He and Cas have been doing this _thing_ for a couple months, ever since their little prison break. Turns out 6 weeks of isolation really makes you take stock of all the shit you never said to certain trench-coat toting angels. Go figure. It was difficult at first, knowing that Cas had traded his wings in return for their release. God knows Dean’s fit to bursting with guilt over that one. But if he ever needed a sign to let him know that Cas felt the same way, him giving up Heaven for them was the neon billboard Dean had been looking for. Turns out it was the easiest thing in the world to finally tell Cas he wanted more.

Things between them haven’t all been smooth sailing, but with the Men of Letters off their backs, Sam a free man, and Cas by his side every night, the past couple of months probably constitute the best of Dean’s life.

The only trouble is - hunting? Not exactly easy-going on new relationships. Not a lot of time for pizza dates and movie nights. The most romantic thing Dean and Cas have done so far is take a fishing trip. One that was interrupted by a splash in the water that turned out to be a Kelpie. The kiss Dean was leaning in for was swiftly halted by Cas running to the car to grab a handful of silver bullets and his .44 Mag.

Watching Cas gun down a giant water spirit with his precision shot may have been hot as hell, but all the blue-hued blood spatter that came after was something of a mood-killer.

Since then, obstacles to alone time with Cas have only increased. Back-to-back hunts. Sharing a motel room with Sam four feet away. It's starting to a toll. And to add to Dean's unease there is, of course, the ever-looming pressure that the next job they take could spell the end of them both. It’s not like Dean’s obsessively focused on the possibility, but 40 years of paranoia and running are hard to shake off.

By all accounts, dating a hunter is stressful, frustrating work.  
  


Cas leans back in the seat next to him, inhaling through his nose on a deep stretch. He has a tendency to go full-throttle on hunts. Dean suspects he’s overcompensating for the lack of grace. Understandable: history has seen Cas hopping clouds and commanding armies, now he’s wearing second-hand plaid and holey socks like the rest of them.

Dean watches as Cas’ arms come up to cradle his head, biceps flexing as he sinks down in his seat and closes his eyes.

He wonders how long it’s been since he got those hands on him; drums his fingers compulsively along the wheel to stop from reaching out. They’re not far from the bunker, but Dean’s worked up enough that he’s about to suggest a gas station quickie. He’s pretty sure there’s a condom somewhere in the glove box. Hand sanitiser, too.

“Eyes on the road, Dean.” Cas’ gruff voice stops Dean’s staring in its tracks. He looks up to find one of Cas’ deep blue eyes peeking up at him. Cas smirks like he knows what Dean’s thinking. The bastard.

Dean shakes himself, mutters, “Shut up,” and fixes his gaze on the highway.

He can see this becoming a problem. Hunting with Cas, it- well it gets him a little worked up. A couple hunts back, they traced a trio of Vamps back to their nest only to find six more waiting for them with bared teeth and more muscles than any dead guy ought to have. The big guy, Mr. Leader of the Pack, managed to knock Dean’s gun out of reach and got his thick hands around Dean’s neck. He struggled for what felt like an age, black spotting his vision - before the grip on his neck loosened and the Vamp's head fell to the ground with a dull thud.

Dean got his breath back and looked up to find Cas; his beige trench coat sprayed red. For a moment, they just stared at one another. It was wildly inappropriate timing and yeah, it’s probably fucked up to get turned on at the sight of a panting, machete-wielding former angel but, hey, Dean’s always been a little twisted.  Dean feels his face heat just thinking about the night they spent together after _that_.

“What are you thinking about?” Cas asks beside him, resting a hand on Dean’s thigh.

“What?” Dean squeaks. “Uh, nothing. Burritos. I’m getting kinda hungry, y’know. Should maybe stop soon.”

“We’re only an hour from the bunker. You can’t wait?”

“Have you met me?”

Cas’ lips twitch. “Fine. Pull over at the next diner. Burritos are on me.”

“Pfft. Big talk from the guy who took all my money last night. Couldn’t buy ‘em if I wanted to.”

“That’s why you should never gamble with me, Dean. You have a terrible poker face.”

“You were supposed to be hustling the bar flies, not _me_!”

“I couldn’t resist.”

Dean can feel Cas’ gaze studying his profile. The hand on his thigh inches higher, its pressure gradually getting firmer. For a former angel, the guy sure does fight dirty. Dean is two seconds away from pulling over and straddling Cas, when an obnoxious snore cuts the tension and he’s abruptly reminded of Sam’s presence in the backseat.

Cas snatches his hand back, jaw clenched, and Dean adjusts himself discreetly.

An awkward silence descends before it's broken by a muffled jingle.

“What is that?” Cas squints suspiciously at the Impala’s dashboard.

“Check the glove box. Could be one of Sammy’s nerd alerts.”

Cas opens the glove box and pulls out the offending cell phone, lit up and vibrating in a pile of four others that remain dark.

“It’s a news alert from Google,” Cas flicks through the article. “A woman has gone missing. In the same area where three bodies have been discovered."

"Okay. So some creepo in the woods is snatching folks. How is that our problem?"  
  
"The bodies were exsanguinated.”

Dean sighs. “Where?”

“Elm Creek, Nebraska.”

“Rain check on the burritos.” He turns around to jostle one of Sam’s giant sprawling knees. “Sammy? _Sam!_ ”

Sam jolts awake with a startled grunt. “What? What is it?”

“New hunt. Three bodies dried out, one missing. Looks like we’re headed to Nebraska.”

***

“The Manananggal.”

Cas plops a leather-bound book onto the already perilously high stack on the motel’s table.

“Come again?” Dean says through a mouthful of chow mein.

“ _Man-anan-ggal._ From the tagalog ‘tanggal’, meaning to split. It fits the profile most appropriately.”

“To split?”

“Yes. According to lore it can separate its top half from its lower and still function independently.”

“That’s just gross.” Dean shoves a fist size gob of noodles into his mouth, smacks his lips together noisily.

Cas leans in to wipe some grease off of Dean’s chin. “Quite.”

Sam ambles through the front door, fully suited and weary looking, and sinks down onto one of the beds. He loosens his tie.

“How’d it go with the medical examiner?” Dean hands him a beer in exchange for a folder.

“Well, she thinks it's a feral animal and that’s the story the papers are going with. But she couldn’t even guess as to what kind of animal is capable of _that_.”

Dean and Cas lean in to scan the folders contents: grizzly pictures of the victims on cold metal tables, alongside their medical histories and the coroner’s report, vague as it is. 

“They all have twin marks on their necks where they were drained, but I don’t think it's a Vampire,” says Sam.

“Puncture wounds too wide, right?” Dean frowns. “Plus whole organs are missing. Werewolf?”

 Sam shakes his head. “Heart got left behind in the third guy.”

 Dean stows his chopsticks and reaches for one of the leather-bound tomes.

 Cas snatches it out of reach.

“No more grease prints on the lore books. These aren’t easy to come by you know.”

Dean pouts, wipes his hands on his jeans. He shows them palm up to Cas. “There. Happy?”

Sam makes a _whipping_ sound with his mouth.

Dean flips him off.

“You guys get anything out of the victim’s families?” Sam asks.

“Not much. All three were frequent visitors to the area, super into hiking or whatever. But we Officer Krupke’d the locals and it turns out there’s been a bunch of animal sightings in those woods. Four separate accounts of people claiming they saw a huge dog prowling the place.”

Sam thinks for a minute, then says, “Chupacabra?”

“S’what I’m thinking.”

“That fits with the cattle deaths the M.E. mentioned.”

Dean picks up his chopsticks and gets to work again, shovelling food into his cheeks while brushing up on how to take down a Chupacabra. He and Sam have faced off with one before: that time they chased it (or rather, it chased _them_ ) through half of Comal County.

“I don’t think it's a Chupacabra,” Cas pipes up, eyes tracing over a monograph older than Dean. “Manananggal are also known for drinking the blood of their victims and have a predilection for entrails.”

Dean looks down at his noodles. “And that’s enough of that.” He pushes away the carton.

Cas smirks, takes a nonchalant sip of soda.

“I’ve never even _seen_ a Mana-thing before.”

“Well I have pictures from the web if you’d like to take a look, though the authenticity of the source is dubious-”

Dean snags Cas’ Coke and drains it. “No one calls it ‘the web’ anymore, you nerd-”

“Okay, wait,” Sam interjects, “Manananggal originate from the Phillipines. So what’s it doing here?”

Cas squints, turns to his laptop screen. “The missing woman,” he says. “Maricel Ocampo. She’s from Capiz. Manananggal populations are most concentrated there.”

“Says here she taught zoology at UNK,” Dean points at the screen over Cas’ shoulder. “You think she went off curriculum? Bought over one of those Mana-things for a little show and tell?”

“It’s a possibility.” Cas nods solemnly.

“But the livestock deaths, the claw marks.” Sam ticks them off on his fingers, “Puncture wounds, witness accounts. It’s all textbook Chupacabra.”

“Manananggal would also account for those events. A Chupacabra is an animal - if it drank the blood of those people, the puncture wounds would be ragged, imprecise. There would likely be crushed bones, evidence of savagery. Manananggal are more meticulous. Thy can take on the guise of a human only to transform into a half-bodied monster at night.”

Sam blows out a breath. “What do you think, Dean?”

Dean crosses and uncrosses his arms, vacillating between two equally obscure lore books. “I don’t know, man. I mean, we got witnesses placing a large dog at the scene, we can’t ignore that. I dunno, you might be wrong about this one, Cas.”

***

Elm Creek Canal runs dead-center through the middle of two dense stretches of woodland. They follow _something’s_ tracks to a wooden shack hidden deep in the trees, but still close enough to the canal that you can hear the sound of rushing water if you’re quiet. The place is something that might once have resembled a farmhouse, with its sloping roof and shingled walls, but it's been left to wither away into the forest for so long that now it doesn’t look like much of anything.

Baby’s engine shudders to a stop a mile or so away; they’re going for the element of surprise and she’s too noisy to take any further. Cas gets out first, his face taut and determined. Sam follows, and they talk tactics and soft entrances. Dean rounds the car to join them at the trunk, stands at Cas’ side as they stockpile weapons. They’re still in disagreement as to what they’ll find in there, so packing for all possibilities is the safest bet.

Dean packs a Bowie knife into a holster, a gun into his waistband, and a can of lighter fluid plus matches into his back pocket.

A light rain starts to fall, the forest shivering gently around them. Dean tugs on his zipper, cursing when it gets stuck halfway up his chest.

“Great,” he mumbles, fiddling with the zipper. “Could never get a hunt in Hawaii. Always gotta go where we need three layers. Cheap ass plastic sh-”

Warm hands shoo Dean’s away, and Cas manages to unhook his coat from the teeth of his zipper. He pulls it up to Dean’s chin, caressing his cheek when he’s done.

“Ready?”

The touch takes Dean by surprise; it’s so tender, so at odds with what they’re about to do. Cas’ face isn’t gentle though, it’s all angles and determination. Like he’s fully-activated soldier mode. And it’s strange… but Dean’s not weak in the knees like he usually is.

Instead, he’s struck with melancholy. Just for a second, he finds himself wondering if in some other life they don’t ever have to set foot in that barn. Where maybe they’re just two regular guys who meet and fall in love. Attend normal, boring-as-hell jobs and leave at 5pm for a warm, inviting home. Stranger still is the fact that Dean’s capable of entertaining these thoughts at all. He thought John had all but beaten it out of him.

After all, normal is not in their genes.

 _This_ is who they are. Dean: the guy who’s been running all his life, couldn't stop if he tried. And Cas? Cas is the guy who fights second tier Vamps the same way he fights heavenly wars, all fury and rigor. But - and God help him for thinking it - don’t they deserve more?

Cas does, that’s for sure. Cas deserves so much better than the unrelenting horror and violence that is life as a hunter. And the horror will come. They’ve battled it well enough before, but it’s the law of averages, right? Something’s bound to turn the tide for them and Dean prays to God that Cas isn’t there when it comes to drag them under.

“Dean?” 

“Huh?” 

“Are you ready?” 

No. Suddenly, he’s not.

So he blurts, “Wait here.”

Cas’ brow furrows. “What?”

“I-I need you to stay here. With the car.”

“Are you being facetious?” Cas tilts his head. “I can never tell.”

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, feeling defensive. Likewise, Cas’ first instinct when he’s feeling insecure is to revert to his clueless angel façade. Dean can relate, but he doesn’t relent.

“I’m serious, Cas. I need you to wait here. Me and Sam, we’ve hunted Chupacabras before. We got this.”

“I told you, it could well be something else, and if that’s the case, I won’t let you go alone-”

“Damn it, Cas, just wait here!” Dean says, and it comes out so much harsher than he intended. He rubs a hand over his mouth.

Cas’ eyes search Dean’s, looking for something, a hint of understanding, rationale, anything. When he doesn’t find it, his lips thin and his gaze turns flat.

“Fine,” he mutters. He calmly replaces his blade back in its sleeve and shoves it into Dean’s chest. “You’ll need this.”

Dean’s mouth works open and closed.

Finally he nods, dodging Sam’s concerned gaze. He keeps his head to the ground, resisting the urge to flinch when the car door slams shut behind him. To Sam he grumbles, “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

***

It’s quiet, only the sound of rain hitting the wooden roof. Some of it trickles inside, through rotting holes in the wood, on the limbs of plants that have crept in over the walls.

There are two women inside; one lying on the ground, pale-skinned and motionless. Dean recognizes her as Maricel - the missing college lecturer. The other woman, petite and gray-haired, hovers over her.

The gray-haired woman has her back to them; Dean flanking left while Sam goes right, their footprints careful and silent.

Dean readies his handgun, patience already razor thin, shaken by what happened at the car.

“Hey, lady!” he shouts.

The gray-haired woman rises, turns around slowly. She’s not as old as Dean first thought, her face rosy smooth and her smile curved like a fox’s.

“Who are you? How’d you find this place?”

A fluttering sound stirs the air around them. It sounds like…

“Wings?” Sam mouths.

Dean looks from Sam to the woman. “We just wanna help,” he placates.

The fluttering grows louder, almost a buzzing right by Dean’s ear. The woman’s smile widens.

She could be an innocent passerby. But then… surely this place is too off the beaten path for someone to wander in.

“Answer us,” Dean cocks his gun.

Her smile widens still, the corners of it seeming to reach her ears.

That’s when the tearing starts, slowly at first, and all Dean can do is watch.

Legs trembling, stuck where he stands, Dean’s mouth gapes as the thing’s upper body rips away from its lower, intestines and viscera hanging red and slick where her waist once was.

Dean backs away clumsily, one foot tripping over the other.

A pair of wings unfurl from behind her and her top half lifts away; three, four then five feet above them.

“Uh… Sam?”

Her grin splits apart, revealing gum and teeth far back into her skull. A forked tongue lashes out in quick flicks.

Gleeful, she rushes at Dean.

***  


“That was reckless, entirely misguided, completely and utterly...” Cas shifts the weight on his shoulder, “You know you’re heavier than you look?”

Dean looks up from where he’s slumped against Cas’ side.

“Way to kick a man while he’s down, Cas.”

His mouth tastes metallic, a warm droplet that must be blood running down his chin. Bit his damn tongue when he landed on his back.

“I fucked up, okay, but you can’t be pissy with me when I’m injured. S’called the sympathy rule. No yelling till the final stitch is in place. Tell ‘im, Sammy.”

Sam walks unsteadily three feet ahead of them, the weight of an unconscious Maricel in his arms. He cocks his head back. “I don’t know what you're talking about, dude. Why’d you tell Cas to wait in the car, anyway? Could’ve used the extra hand when I got knocked on my ass and you were three feet in the air.”

“Oh, thanks for the reminder! You,” Dean points an accusatory finger at Cas, “forgot to mention it could _fly_!”

Cas wraps an arm gingerly around Dean’s waist, taking on the rest of his weight before continuing towards the car.

“Yes. well,” he grits his teeth, “I’m no expert.”

“It _dropped_ me!”

“Yeah. Lucky Cas got there in time for you to land on him.” Sam remarks, smug like he didn’t also get his ass handed to him by an _old lady._

Cas glares sideways at Dean.

“Okay. Look. Mistakes were made, I get it. In future, Cas, you won’t be relegated to the car. And we’ll get a clear handle on what we’re hunting. And I’ll wear lead shoes.”

“The hell happened to the huge dog supposedly prowling the area?” Sam wonders aloud.

Cas clears his throat and nudges his head back to where the dilapidated farmhouse sits. At the foot of its entrance lies a giant Doberman, his tongue lolling out in a grin as it watches them go.

Dean splutters. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

“Hardly brimming with supernatural ability, is it?” Cas remarks.

“No. Cute though.”

“ _Ugh._ What is it with you and mutts, Sam?”

Maricel stirs in Sam’s arms. “W-what happened?”

“Hey. Hey, it’s alright, you’re safe. You’re safe. I’m gonna put you down, okay? Can you walk?” Sam ushers her to the car, leaving Dean and Cas to slog behind.

The drive to Maricel’s house is ordinary, like any other drive they’ve made a hundred times before. For Maricel, of course, it's a car ride she’ll never forget.

Dean’s groggy for most of it but he catches bits here and there, including Sam’s awkward ‘sorry but monsters are real’ patter. Cas is quiet, reaching over occasionally to brush the hair out of Dean’s eyes and check that he’s still breathing. Dean’s got this pit in his gut that won’t be put right until he apologises to Cas. But the seat is so warm against his cheek...  


***

When he opens his eyes again he’s alone, parked outside a picturesque ranch home encased in white fencing. Sam, Cas, and Maricel limp their way up to the front door, where Maricel bangs weakly and waits. She’s greeted by a woman and a boy of about six or seven. Maricel collapses to her knees, wrapping the child in her arms and stroking fingers through his dark hair.

Dean cracks a window and listens to the faint drift of their voices. He realizes that Maricel is crying.

After a long moment, Sam asks, “Can we give you a ride to the hospital? You lost a lot of blood.”

Maricel turns back to Sam as if she’d forgotten he was there. Her face turns grave, ignoring the question. “You have to understand, I would never - it was an accident, a mistake.” she rambles. “The book was a gift, an old aunt in Capiz, but I thought it was a historical text, I didn’t - if I knew what would happen I never would have read from it.”

Cas’ head tilts and Dean knows without seeing his face that Cas is studying the woman, eyes slitted. After a second or two he seems satisfied and cautiously reaches out to squeeze Maricel’s shoulder.

“It’s all right,” he says, “it’s over now.”

Maricel wipes her nose with her sleeve, her trembling lips curve into a half-smile. “Yes.” She buries her nose in her son’s hair. “Yes.”

“Thank you. For getting me out of there. For getting me back to my son. I’m sorry, I don’t even know your names.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m Sam, and this is my brother, Cas. And hey, if you ever need anything, just give us a call, okay?” He hands her a fake fed card with their real cell number on it.

Dean sprawls out across the backseat, joints popping in his knees as he goes. It's not long before Sam lumbers into the driver’s seat and turns over Baby’s engine.

“My back is in pieces," Sam says. "I’m getting too old for this.”

“I know. Don’t worry, we won’t put you in a nursing home. Me and Cas’ll look after you.”

“Har-har. What is Cas doing?”

Dean looks out to see Cas, half-turned towards the car but still standing at the edge of the lawn, watching Maricel bounce her son playfully on her hip.

Along with his smile, his blue eyes seem to glow brighter, as he watches Maricel plant kiss after kiss on the boy’s forehead.

“He’s seeing what he saved, Sammy. We used to do that, remember?”

Sam hums thoughtfully.

“I’m glad he’s here.” Sam says, “I mean, it sucks that he had to give up Heaven for this, but. He seems…”

“Yeah… Yeah, he does.”

***

Three hours later finds them back at the bunker. A nod of understanding passes between the brothers, and Sam takes to his room and shuts himself in, headphones and all. Dean drags a worn out Cas upstairs to his room. _His_ room because Cas hasn’t moved in yet. Dean is slowly building a sanctuary that the two of them can come back to after a rough hunt; a place where they unwind together, where Cas’ things can clutter up his dresser. Once he’s finished, he’ll ask Cas officially.

The man in question flops unceremoniously face first onto the mattress, not bothering to undress.

 “Cas, buddy.” Dean grips one of his ankles, feet still clad in dirty boots. “You get mud on my sheets and you’re doing laundry for a month.”

“You love doing laundry.” Cas says, voice muffled by the pillow he’s smushed against.

“Shut up. Turn over.”

Cas rolls over with languid ease, and Dean starts to undo his boot laces.

Cas nudges Dean’s side with his other foot. “How’s your back?”

“Fucking hurts. Y’know you might need to give me a rubdown. How’s your front?”

“Hmm. It aches some but...” Cas runs a hand down his chest. “Worth it.”

Dean pulls off Cas’ boots and sets them aside. He fumbles for Cas’ zipper, nervous like a teenager, and tugs his pants down slowly.

“Hey, did I say thank you for… coming to my rescue today?”

Cas is quiet.

“And… I’m sorry. For what happened at the car. I was… ” Dean trails off, thumb rubbing over the skin at Cas’ ankle.

Suddenly strong hands hook under his arms and twist his body so that he falls sideways onto the bed, nose to nose with Cas.

“You were what, Dean?”

Dean says nothing.

“Dean, despite what you think, I'm entirely capable of-”

“No, I know. I know you’re not some freshly-minted human, okay? I know you’re capable of doing the job.”

“Then, why? You made me feel like you don’t trust me to be your partner.”

“ _Of course_ I trust you. Fuck, I just... We just got started on _this_. I don’t wanna fuck it up by getting you killed in some two-bit monster hunt.”

Cas’ hand skims the curve of Dean’s waist.

“I know it’s frightening, this job of ours,” he starts, slowly. “But you must realise that I’m _good_ at this. _We’re_ good at it. We keep each other safe. Can you… trust in that, in us?”

“I've been doing this a long time, Cas. There’s not a whole lot that hunting won’t take from you.”

Cas presses a kiss to Dean’s jaw. “I know,” and another, “I know.”

“But you’re right." Dean says on a sigh. "You are good at this. The way you came into that barn, guns blazing. Jesus. Made me all tingly.” he chuckles, "Pretty sure that monster chick wasn’t expecting you to go all Scarface on her wings.”

“I’ll always keep you safe. It’s not in me to do otherwise.”

“So you… you really like this job, huh?”

“Hunting?" Cas leans back, considering. "Yes, I suppose I do. It may not be considered the most noble of callings, but it makes me feel…" he cups a hand to Dean's cheek. "...purposeful again. An important thing for a human, so I’m told.”

Some part of Dean wants to argue the point with him. Take him by the shoulders and plead, ‘You’re too good for this life. Get out while you still can.’ But he can’t, and he won’t. As long as Cas keeps smiling like he did today at the sight of the woman he saved, that’s enough incentive for Dean to deal with his shit.

“Dean…” Cas catches his gaze and holds it. “It’s okay. Whatever we may have to face as hunters, _this_ \- this will always be worth it.”

Dean inhales a deep breath. Lets it out. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”

Cas makes love to him after that, slow and sweet, mouth ghosting over the bruises that litter his body. He says it again as he buries himself over and over inside Dean’s warmth, “This is worth it, Dean. You’re so worth it.”

Dean can only dig his nails into Cas’ muscled back and pant, "yeah, yeah, yeah,” in his ear like a stuck record.

Afterwards, when it’s dark and quiet and his body tingles with a pleasant ache, Dean watches Cas sleep. He smooths a hand over Cas’ rough jaw, smiles at the snuffling noise Cas makes in response, at the way he leans into Dean’s touch. In the dark, it feels like he could say it. Like he could allow that, just this once. Even feels the words crowd in his mouth. 

He wants to say, ‘I love you,’ but he keeps it to ‘goodnight, Cas.’


End file.
